River of Ink Part 9

I couldn’t help but be rather taken in by my surroundings. A bustling under-bridge cavern filled with pretty people sipping expensive drinks and laughing at undoubtedly overly amusing jokes they told each other, most likely about things I new nothing about. They came and went from this place like moths between the flickeringly dim lights, the cocktails and the river that’s pulse seemed to resonate withing the rock of the bar and cast its own life force to the occupants, almost like an intravenous breath blown into them. These people could not be real. Yet they were, for I could see them before me. I looked at them in amazement, gazing at them with some intent, though I could not entirely familiarise myself with just what that intent was. They looked back at me with sparkly eyes and wide porcelain smiles yet we never made eye contact, they just looked at their drinks or their clothes or their women. Then I grasped what that intent was that had been glistening in the corner of my eye; it was a blatant and unapologetic wish – no – a need – to join them, to be one of them. It was as my drink arrived that I was snapped out of my daydream by a buzzing that seemed from my hazy state to be a long way off.

“Hello?” Owen said with an almost authourititve snap. I switched back out of my mind and looked at him. He wasn’t talking to me. He had his phone pressed to his ear and was talking to whoever was on the other side of it. “Yes, I’m just at the office. I imagine I’ll be back soon.” He continued “I’m just at the office. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come back.” He paused “Yes, yes, that’s fine, I’ll come back now.” He stopped, putting the phone down harshly.

He turned to me with a grave stare.

“Do you have to go?” I said with a half sympathetic, half snappy smile.

“Yes, yes, I do, I’ll see you again soon.” He stood up briskly, as if something at the opposite side of the room had caught his eye. He picked up his laptop bag and hurried off to the rest of his day. I sat there alone for a few moments, staring into the space Owen had just left vacant. I couldn’t help but feel a little irritated. Owen had agreed to meet me. Me. Not Georgienna. On that subject, I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew of his whereabouts. I suppose she must do, she must understand that all rich, powerful, charismatic men have mistresses and pretty girls who they see from time to time. I was Owen’s mistress.

I was snapped out of my thoughts through a tap on the shoulder.

“Miss,” a soft voice murmured “Miss, your drink Miss.” The young waiter had returned to the table, placing down a minty mojito before me.

“Oh,” I paused, somewhat dazed “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, don’t worry, Mr Vanveen has a tab always open here.” He grinned. I couldn’t help but feel a little mocked by his attention. He seemed to be judging me based on a momentary glance from across a crowded room. With a sudden impulsion, I picked up the drink and downed it.

“Can I have another one, please?” I said briskly to the waiter.

“Okay…” he said with a slight grimace.

I moved my chair a little closer to the river which gushed outside like ink pouring from a tipped over ink pot, one of those things made of glass from the olden days that would smash if you threw it and cascade everywhere and turn your writing papers all black, so the words were indecipherable.

I drank the second cocktail.

And the third.

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